This is Gospel
by saelysia-the-greater
Summary: "Now, Moriarty had crawled his way back out of Hell, and he was threatening everything that Sherlock loved." With John thinking him dead, Sherlock employs the Winchester brothers to help him destroy Moriarty before he takes away the very reason Sherlock exists. Angel!Sherlock. Post-Reichenbach, Johnlock, Destiel. Rated M for slash, violence, and language.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is Gospel**_

_Chapter One - This is Gospel for the Fallen Ones_

_A/N: Hello there, all! This is my new Sherlock/SPN crossover. I really...I don't really have much to tell you guys, except that I'll be working on this one along with ATOTS. (Lord, that it a funny acronym.) ATOTS is my priority as of right now, but this one will definitely be worked on as I go. The idea for this story came to me from a Tumblr post. It was a picture of the scene from Reichenbach where you see Sherlock's "body", but there were angel wings burned into the ground. So, lo and behold, I connected the story. Anyway, please enjoy._

_"This is Gospel" by Panic! at the Disco helped write this chapter._

* * *

He kept his head down, chin tucked into the folds of his thick, blue scarf, his gloved hands shoved into his coat pockets. His eyes were fixated on the ground, occasionally lifting to search through the crowd for the Winchesters, but the people who milled around him paid him no mind, passing him as if he didn't exist.

One woman - mid-twenties, undergraduate student majoring in chemistry, co-rented a flat with a lazy friend who didn't pay her half of the rent, hadn't slept well in three days, if the bags under her eyes were anything to go by – bumped into him as she stepped off a curb, apologizing profusely. She had stared at him for a long moment when he had only glanced at her in response. From the wrinkles that formed around the corners of her eyes as she squinted, he found it rather obvious that she recognised him.

He pressed a finger to his lips with a slow smirk, earning a quick nod as she slowly backed away, turning around and fleeing the way that she had come. He could sense the confusion and desire rolling off of her in waves, but he only rolled his eyes and shook his head, continuing down the narrow sidewalk.

Hearing a car horn blare, Sherlock turned slightly in the direction of the sound, looking for the monstrosity that Sam and Dean called a car. If he were inclined to motorised vehicles, he may have found it aesthetically pleasing, but in actuality he hated it. He found it to be too confining, too slow. He would have preferred to just fly to the Winchesters.

But Castiel had placed the Enochian sigils on the boys, making them impossible for Sherlock to locate himself.

The horn belonged to a red Toyota, a shiny new model that Sherlock was sure that car enthusiasts found very nice, and he growled in frustration, earning him a few passing stares from strangers. He ignored them, lifting his face away from his scarf, craning his neck to look above the heads of the humans around him.

He could feel his vessel's heart begin to beat rapidly when he laid eyes on a shorter man with sandy blond hair, wearing a green jumper under his black coat. His face was turned away from Sherlock, a mobile pressed to his ear, and Sherlock took a step in the man's direction.

"John…"

The man turned back towards Sherlock, sliding his phone into his coat pocket, and Sherlock froze in his place, his heart hammering, his chest feeling incredibly tight. It wasn't John. It wasn't his John.

_Of course it isn't, you idiot._

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock steadied himself and shook his head. "You idiot," he muttered to himself, pushing himself forward, keeping his eyes planted firmly on the ground as he passed the man in the green jumper.

He sighed bitterly, closing his eyes as he remembered the tortured way that John had screamed his name as he fell, the helpless look on his face as he stared at Sherlock's body. Sherlock would have given all of Heaven to have never have caused John Watson so much pain and suffering. He would have done anything for John.

_That's why you're doing this now_, his vessel's voice whispered to him. _You're doing this to save John._

Sherlock grit his teeth, curling his hands into fists. Centuries ago, when Moriarty had first made his way out of the Pit, Sherlock had been given orders to stop him, to end the destruction and chaos. He had had Moriarty within his grasp, and, instead of killing him as he should have, he had a moment of mercy and merely exorcised him.

Now, Moriarty had once again crawled his way out of Hell, and was threatening everything that Sherlock loved. Emma Hudson was in danger, Lestrade was in danger, John – his John - was in danger, all because of his moment of weakness.

And that was why he was going to end Moriarty, swiftly, precisely, ridding the world of that evil so that John would be safe. Maybe when this was over, Sherlock would go home to John, hold the human close to him, and never leave him again.

Never.

It would have to take an act of God to keep John Watson away from him, and Sherlock was prepared to face that.

He turned around as he heard the familiar roar of the abomination, followed by three quick honks meant to get his attention. Sherlock grimaced in distaste and slipped past a couple waiting at the bus stop, holding his arm out for Dean to see.

Slowly, taking care not to hit anyone in the street, Dean pulled up alongside the sidewalk and leaned out the window, grinning lecherously at Sherlock. "Hey baby, what do you charge?" he asked as Sherlock stepped off the curb, the question getting a few horrified stares from those within an earshot.

"You never cease to amuse yourself, do you Dean?" Sherlock growled as he roughly yanked the back door open, slamming it loudly as he threw himself into the backseat next to Castiel, who rolled his eyes and patted Sherlock on the shoulder. Sherlock ignored his brother in favour of glaring at Dean, his hands curling into fists once more.

Dean's grin grew wider as he put the car in gear and shot forward, the tires squealing on the road as he went about twenty miles over the proposed speed limit. "You look good for someone who's supposed to be dead," he said, looking at Sherlock in the review mirror and offering him a shit-eating grin. Ever since he had met the angel, he had taken it upon himself to be the most aggravating pain-in-the-ass that he could.

Personally, Sherlock blamed Zachariah for this.

"Dean!" Sam admonished, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock apologetically before smacking his brother on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. He thinks that he's funny, but he's really not-"

Sherlock sighed heavily, waving his hand impatiently at the flustered Winchester. "Please, Samuel, let it alone. I don't have time for his theatrics. We have work to do. From what I heard last, Moriarty is in-"

"Oh Sherlock, I love it when you talk business," Dean interrupted, earning himself another slap from Sam and a sharp look from Castiel, who had remained silent through the entire exchange.

"Dean!"

Sherlock sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to count the reasons as to why he shouldn't kill Dean Winchester right there and now, with his brother and Castiel watching.

Going home to John Watson was all of them.

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_I hope that you all liked it! Please, leave a review or send some love or do something of that nature. It would make me oh so very happy!_

_Love and affection,  
_

_Sael_


	2. Chapter 2

_**This is Gospel**_

_Chapter Two - Locked Away in A Permanent Slumber_

_A/N: Seasons greetings, mi amigos. Though it's nowhere near Christmas. Actually, there's only like nine weeks until Christmas. Cool, right? Anyway, I haven't really decided at what part of the show Supernatural this takes place in, since I'm only in the middle of season 5 (though I know the majority of the plotlines for seasons 6-8). This'll probably be...I don't know. I'll decide at a later date._

_"Fortune Days" by the Glitch Mob, "Use Somebody" by 2Cellos, and "Drive It Like You Stole It" by the Glitch Mob wrote this chapter._

**Warning: **_This chapter has mentions of attempted rape, as well a some violence. _

* * *

Molly Hooper had never been the praying type, not really, not since her dad had passed away when she was a child. She had been ten, just at the age where she could understand the concept of death, and she had prayed that God or the angels would bring him back to her and her mum, that they would be a family again.

She wanted to see her mother smile and joke and laugh, like she did when Molly's dad was alive. She wanted her dad back so she could run into his arms when he got home from work and giggle wildly as he would swing her around in a big circle.

She wanted to take away the memories of the sad looks that her dad would give her and her mum when they were sitting together watching telly or eating supper, the sad looks that she had noticed even when he thought that she couldn't see them.

She had been ten years old when she stopped believing in angels and God, believing them to be solace for those who didn't have anyone else in the world to turn to.

When she turned twenty-five, she had been walking home late one night after a rather devastating row with the man she had been seeing when she thought someone called her name from the other side of the street. She had turned around, hoping for it to be Charlie, but there was no one there.

Shaking her head to herself, she continued on, only for it to happen again a few steps later. Slightly alarmed, she had reached into her bag and dug out the can of mace her mother had bought for her and whirled around, Charlie standing right behind her.

She gasped, before clutching her chest and letting out a relieved laugh. "Oh, Charlie," she had said, her voice slightly hysterical. "I thought you were someone else." She smiled at him, but then it slid from her face when she noticed the serious look on his face. "Charlie, I'm really sorry about earlier. It wasn't my place to-"

Charlie smiled disarmingly, cutting her off mid-apology, and said, "I should be apologising to _you_, Molly. Come on, let's go back to your place and we'll talk about it." He offered her his arm, uncharacteristically gentlemanly, which she took without a second thought, just happy that he hadn't been too angry with her.

She didn't notice that as they began walking, Charlie's eyes flashed entirely black and a wicked smirk curled at his lips, which attacked hers the moment that she closed her flat door behind them, pushing her back against the wall.

Her head spun as she kissed him back, a little confused by his behaviour, and she pushed him away gently, just enough to put a hands-width of space between them. Her cheeks flushed and she was panting, but she managed to say, "You said that you wanted to talk, Charlie."

"We can talk later," he replied smoothly, raking his eyes over her body in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. "Let me make it up to you, Molly. Please."

"Charlie, I don't think that that's—"

Without warning, Charlie reached out and grabbed her wrists, slamming her arms up against the wall with bruising force. Molly cried out in pain, trying to pull her hands free, but Charlie had them in an iron grip, his strength almost inhuman.

"Charlie, let me go!" she cried, struggling against him as he pinned her body with his, making it impossible for her to move. "Get off of me, Charlie!"

Charlie began to tut, shaking his head and offering her a lecherous grin. "Now, now, Molly, I'm afraid that Charlie isn't here. Well, he is, but for now, it's just you and me."

"You've lost your mind, Charlie," Molly answered, tears pricking at her eyes. "Please, Charlie, just let me go!"

Charlie clicked his tongue, his eyes boring into her intensely. "I told you," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Charlie isn't here."

Molly screamed as Charlie's eyes flashed entirely black, like someone had spilled ink into them, and she told herself to wake up, that this was all just a bad dream.

"You're right, Molly," Charlie whispered into her ear, causing her to turn her head away from his lips. "This is just a bad dream. But unfortunately, you're awake for this one and I can't guarantee you'll wake up in the morning." He chuckled low in his throat, pressing his lips to her throat.

"Help!" Molly screamed, continuing the writhe against Charlie to push him off of her. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her blood roaring in her ears, revulsion and fear racing through her body.

_Dear God, please, someone please help me!_

Molly squeezed her eyes shut as Charlie pressed harder against her body, his teeth and lips attacking her neck, trying to shrink away from as best as she could. She didn't want this, this wasn't Charlie, this wasn't, this wasn't…

She heard the soft rustle of wings and suddenly Charlie's weight was gone, a crash echoing around her flat as Charlie was thrown against her coffee table, the force making the frail thing shatter on impact. Molly jumped, her eyes wide as Charlie lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes green once more, before he pushed himself up into a sitting position and started to laugh, the sound sending a chill down her spine.

His eyes went black again, and Molly tried to step back in fear, only to collide with something solid. She screamed and whirled, her eyes taking in a tall man with curly black hair, his eyes – a pale blue colour – fixed on Charlie behind her.

"Whatever you do," the man said to her, sweeping her behind him with one arm, not looking at her, "do not move from that spot."

Molly barely had to time to nod before the man pulled out a strange-looking knife, and launched himself at Charlie, who was staring at the man with unconcealed hatred. Molly screamed, covering her mouth with her hands.

Charlie caught the man around the waist and pushed him towards the wall, hard enough to leave a huge crack in the plaster, trying to wrestle the knife out of the man's hand.

"Couldn't help but interfere, eh?" Charlie growled out, pinning the man's right arm above his head and wrenching the knife away from him, throwing it across the room, where it skidded to a stop just in front of Molly's feet. "Angel scum."

The man bared his teeth and used his weight to push Charlie forward, and Molly, without thinking, bent and picked the knife up and threw it, all of her training coming back to her. She watched as it sailed through the air with precision before sinking into the side of Charlie's neck. It flashed a bright yellow and Charlie collapsed, his body hitting the floor with a solid _thud_.

The man stared down at Charlie's body for a moment before lifting his head to look at her, a look of incredulity on his face.

"My uncle taught me how to throw knives," she said softly, smiling at him blankly, a choked sob forcing its way out of her throat. She covered her mouth with her hands again, willing herself not to cry. "What was that?"

"It was a demon," the man said, his voice deep and gravelly. "It possessed your friend and attacked you." He squatted down and pulled the knife from Charlie's throat, inspecting it for blood before tucking it into tone of his coat's inner pockets. "What is your name?"

"Molly Hooper," Molly said, stepping out of the corner, pulling her coat around her tightly. "What's yours?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," he answered, standing. "And I am an angel."

* * *

Molly looked down at her phone as it rang, the number flashing across the screen almost mockingly. She bit her lip, shooting a glance at John's sleeping form, before slipping out of the room and answering it.

"Hello?" she said quietly, keeping her voice low so John wouldn't hear her.

"Molly, I'm with the Winchesters," Sherlock said, having to raise his voice slightly over the sound of music in the background. "We should be in New York by tomorrow." She heard a round of raucous laughter, followed by the sound of the phone being pulled away from Sherlock.

"Hey, Molly," a slightly inebriated voice said over the line, making her press her lips together in a thin line. She liked Dean well enough, though she found him rather vulgar and sometimes unpleasant to deal with.

"Hello, Dean," she said. "Put Sherlock back on the phone."

"What kind of greeting is that?" he asked before she heard the phone transfer hands again and Sherlock was speaking once more.

"I apologise for that, Molly," Sherlock said smoothly, before continuing on. "As I said, we should be in New York tomorrow. Based on our sources, we should—"

Molly cut him off mid-rant, her tone biting as she said, "You need to hurry this up, Sherlock."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, you need to hurry up and find that bastard," she hissed, peeking into the other room to be sure John was still sleeping. "John…he's…he's not well, Sherlock. He needs you. I need you. He hasn't been sleeping or eating or talking to anyone except for me. He won't even look at Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson is beside herself."

At the mention of John, Sherlock's end of the line went silent save for the background noise. For a moment, Molly felt bad for being so harsh with him, but then she shook her head, knowing that John depended on Sherlock coming home.

"I will end this as soon as I possibly can," Sherlock answered finally. "Have you-?"

"There's salt on every windowsill, in front of the doors, and I have a devil's trap painted under your front rug," Molly said quickly. "I have holy water and salt rounds hidden in the flat so John can't find them."

Sherlock was silent again before he said softly, "Thank you Molly."

And then he hung up.

* * *

_Wow, I realise that I kind of suck at fight scenes. But I guess...I don't even know. Anyway, leave a review and send love and tell me what you thought._

_Love and affection,_

_Sael_


	3. Author's Notice

**Author's Notice**

_Hello there, everyone. I know it's been such a terribly long time since I've updated any of my stories, but I am the bearer of bad news at the moment. Today we received our progress reports from school, and my father – as well as myself – was not happy about certain grades that I have in my classes. So, from now until the end of the semester, I am going dark side. I'll update as often as I can, when I can, from the secret society that is me. Mostly it'll be when my parents aren't home so I can write and post. But I am not supposed to use the Interwebs outside of school work._

_However, I look at this as a good thing. This will give me the time to crank out multiple chapters for _A Tale of Two Souls _and _This is Gospel,_ as well as work on the Destiel one-shot that I have planned, and begin the rewriting of _Post Tenebras Cadit._ I know it really sucks, but I will try my hardest not to disappoint you all._

_Much love and affection, _

_Sael_


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